if teaching doesn't work out...

Halloween was a good time here, despite the fact that it isn't celebrated in Argentina (the one poor little kid who came to our door - the first my roommates had ever seen in their time here - got shafted for his efforts, I think. A big bag of fruit, cereal bars, and yoghurt seemed to be what he was headed home with for the night). South American Explorers, the local traveler's organization, hosted a great Halloween party with people having to be a little more creative (costumes are stupid expensive for basic stuff).

Pictures are forthcoming, probably early next week, as I'm moving this weekend.

organics in argentina

In the comments of my entry on entry on dressings a friend asked about organics here. I (wrongly, as it turns out) assumed that since everything was nice and local it would also be more organic. How wrong I was. After talking last weekend with a friend who is a vegan and a strong believer in healthy food, I found that there is no governing body down here for organics (read: anyone can slap organic on their food if they want, although it's not a big draw, so no one does it), and it's questionable as to whether there is even an agency that regulates pesticide use down here. Jen, the friend, told me that she hears about what's used usually through announcements in the business sections of the local papers of the great new pesticide available for use down here. She doesn't even touch strawberries from down here, as they absorb everything put on them (which is usually a whole lotta crap).

So that, unfortunately, is the situation on food down here. Really, it's like most of the rest of the second/third world - people do what they have to to keep up their immediate health (two of the most heavily contaminated fruits or vegetables in the US (on the average. It's about halfway down the article) are Mexican cantaloupes and Chilean grapes). They can't afford to go organic or to pay more to create an organic market (or don't know anything about organics in the first place, another possibility). You can tell by what is consumed down here that healthy eating is not that high on most Argentinians' lists. Until it is, pesticides will probably retain their poisonous grip on farming in South America.

moved and settled. mostly.

Well, we've moved into our new place, the one we should have for the rest of our time here. If you weren't aware we were moving, well, we moved! And if you weren't aware we were in another place, we were! And then we moved!

This time, we're living with an Argentinian* gent whose English is pretty good. We have a language change-off - one day in Spanish, one day in English. A little practice, which is nice, as I still need lots (still using Christine as a crutch a lot. It's the whole replying thing that's still evading me).

*I've heard both Argentinian and Argentine down here, and have no idea if one is used more than the other. The only thing I've heard about it is that Americans tend to use Argentine and everyone else uses Argentinian (told that. Haven't noticed it per se). I use both. So does the Wikipedia article.

Being temporary tends to suck. You never get a sense of ownership of things, a sense of being. Some of you might say, "But Ryan, you're only there temporarily! You could even view Taiwan as a temporary thing. Didn't you move three times in two years there?" Well, you smart young whippersnapper you, I'm talking about very short spurts of time. Ownership of a place is pretty easy to make happen - you make a few things yourself and place them about, organize what you have in your way, buy something that makes a statement about you and keep it in your room. But to make any of these worth it, you need at least a little time.

In our first apartment here, we had two and a half months. Honestly, we didn't even unpack any of the sparse decorations we had brought with us (a few of my photographs). Why put it up for two months when it would just have to come down? It was the first thing we did here, and it really changed the room. Just a few pictures, but it brought colour and character and personalization into the room. Our roommate even poked his head in when he saw some colour from the hall. Little things like that. It's nice. (Also, moving stuff always sucks, so the fewer things you have, the less trouble it is).

As for work, we're both teaching now, though not as much as we'd like to be. I guess we arrived just in time to catch the end of the work season. Summer holidays are in January, and the city is supposedly pretty quiet then. We'll see how it goes - we may take off for a few weeks ourselves to see the country, or we may stick around if we can beef up our schedules from the leftovers, as the teachers tend to leave at that time, too. Both have appeal.

That's what's going on off the internet south of the border, down Argentina way. I'm still taking photos (there are a few newer galleries up as of last week, check them out - a wedding and wedding fiesta (with dancers! Child dancers!), a small trip to Uruguay (Homer: Hee hee! Look at this country! You are gay), and the local Halloween party), and Chris is continuing her posts on her photoblog (check out yesterday's, uh, after it's posted. My personal favourite to date). Keepin' busy.

how to eat cauliflower

Cauliflower. Most people think of it as broccoli's less evil cousin. Typically, the only way people eat it (including my brother) is drenched in a wonderfully thick cheese sauce, preferrably the kind that never actually leaves your body. It just kind of sticks around in various corners or in your veins, plugging everything up with tastiness and cholesterol.

We ended up with most of a head of it after some other recipe or another and were wondering what to do with it. Chris popped on the Interporn and found a recipe for Spiced Caramelized Cauliflower, a recipe that is devilishly simple and is like a giant spice party in your mouth, guaranteed to give that cheese sauce a good goosin' on its way through your system. We followed the recipe to a T and I can't think of a way to change it. It's a great blend, with a tiny bit of kick, some definitely caramelizing happening (sweet cauliflower is a new love of mine, in fact), and is welcome on my plate whenever it wants to be.

counterfeiting - it's everywhere!

So I see Canada has the new fiver, with NEW ADDED SECURITY for you and your children. We've already got that down here in Argentina.

You should see the attempts that people make to copy bills outside of North America, though. And they get away with it! When I was in Taiwan, I remember sitting at a foreigner-owned bar and the owner telling us after that a guy who had used VERY obvious fakes (photocopies) had the nerve to come back after using them the same night, then, when told his money was no good, asked for his forgeries back. Some people. The ones here are better, but a simple glance tells them for what they are. It is very common for people to hold up a any bill of ten pesos or more ($3US or more) up to the light for the watermark check, and most supermarkets and other large stores have verification machines. In countries where populations are still starving (and they still are here, especially outside of Buenos Aires), people will go to any lengths to have money.

mothertonguers

After a demo class given today, I was just chewing the fat with the boss, who is a linguistics teacher, and she commented that she had heard that there were two situations where one regresses to their native tongue. Always. Numbers/figures and taboo words (mainly curse words).

I can believe it. The number of idiosyncratic ways I've seen how a language treats a number - in Spanish, they use thousands of millions over a billion often, and Chinese breaks numbers on the ten thousand instead of the thousand - it's just easier to translate it to what you know. And though I've sworn in a bunch of languages, when it becomes reaction, it's in English. Whittled down for the kids when necessary, of course.

(homo)sexual education

This week sees the 3rd International Gay Film Festival here in Buenos Aires. Tonight, we went and saw a terrific documentary called It's Elementary. It went into six elementary schools where they actually talked about *gasp* homosexuality WITH THE CHILDREN. Oh their poor little minds. Everyone had different approaches, from one school having a Gay and Lesbian Pride Day to another school holding an exhibition of photographs of families with two moms or two dads. Classroom approaches varied from reading stories to having volunteers who were gay coming to answer questions, along with many discussions.

The kids were of all ages - some as young as first grade. What was interesting was how their ideas changed as they got older - the youngest kids were the most tolerant and the idea was very basic to them. It wasn't different that a man loving a woman (which was what the older kids said would be difficult for these younguns to comprehend), except it was two men or two women. "It's like, duh, you're gay," as one kid laconically put it. The older kids were the ones who had doubts and stereotypes in them - one girl thought all gays were white, as that's all she had seen on TV (most kids got their ideas of gay through the TV, though there were a few kids with two moms in the classrooms and a few gay teachers, some out to their students, some not).

Of course it created controversy in almost every school. Parents were angry, the principle at the photo exhibit school was told he could lose his job. One or two of the schools sent home permission slips or information slips (I wasn't clear on which one it was) telling parents that they were teaching this to the children. This brought up a good point - should we send home slips when we teach Native history or Mexican history or slavery history? Those can be pretty explosive topics, depending on how they are handled, too.

One of the most poignant questions was brought up by a teacher - what about kids who come from a background where they are taught that homosexuality is flat out wrong? As a teacher, you can't just tell a kid that they are wrong, especially if they are only in fifth grade. Bridging the gap between telling them we have to accept others (against their family's beliefs, essentially) and that they're entitled to their opinion (which can potentially spread hatred and misinformation) would be damn near impossible. Honestly, I wouldn't know how to handle that with a ten-year-old kid. I argued about it with Chris on an intellectual level - what if a kid is raised by a couple of skinheads and denounces all minorities? How is that different? You can't just say, oh, it's my religion, as people used to use that for slavery, too - but try and express that in a classroom. Good luck.

I totally support the movement (the movie was an older one, made a decade ago), but I would be led to think it has faltered in the last few years, what with a) school funding cuts and b) the American government's emphasis on abstinence being the only sex ed available in schools, period. Kids understand, even better than we do. The opening clip contrasted a senator/congressman talking about corrupting the youth and making the wrong material available and so on with a third-grader saying he thought being gay was the same thing as a man and a woman, except it was a man and a man, and he didn't see why there was a big problem with it.

Homer Simpson once said, "Kids are great, Apu. You can teach them to hate the things you hate and they practically raise themselves now-a-days, you know, with the internet and all!" Unfortunately, this seems to be the way that we are raising kids these days. Not everyone - I know of a few shining examples myself who are doing a great job of raising kids to think for themselves - but there is a lot of hate-passing going on. The education system needs to return to being able to do just that. Let's give all the facts to the kids and maybe we'll see who has the right ideas these days.

Two further notes of interest. First of all, I love being in a city that has film festivals. So far I've seen a few great flicks at the Human Rights Film Festival and caught a few good wacky movies at a David Lynch series (Lost Highway is still really fucked up. Really.), and now this. Go big city festivals!

Second, the gay environment here is really odd. Gay civil unions are completely legal, which strikes me as odd in a country where abortions are illegal, you had to explain a judge why you wanted a vasectomy until recently, and the Church has a stake in the government. Six or seven years ago, as I've heard it, everything was outlawed and it was thin ice for homosexuals, then, all of a sudden, everything changed. I haven't found out what brought on this miraculous change of heart, but Buenos Aires has taken the crown from Rio de Janeiro as South America's gay capital in recent years, so it must have been something big. There are big drag shows in the city at some restaurants and bars. I do intend to make to one soon. Don't worry, there will be a post.

supertelevangelistic sex-and-drugs psychosis

If you remember Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious from the Mary Poppins movie and if you've heard of the Pastor Ted scandal, you'll love Supertelevangelistic Sex-and-Drugs Psychosis!

(a big tip of the hat to Accordion Guy)

on pickup lines and pinches*

*by Chris

Ryan has asked me to write a special guest appearance blog on a topic that he can’t quite claim any expertise in – a woman’s experience in Buenos Aires. Latino men have a reputation for being, shall we say, macho, and the guys here are no exception. Not as bad as some of their more northern counterparts, but as is sung in the musical Evita, “Argentine men call the sexual shots . . .”

This is most obvious on the street, as a very common past time for porteños is to make flirtatious comments at women as they walk past. These comments are called “piropos,” and are considered almost an art form amongst men here. Supposedly they can be very creative, an example I’ve heard goes something like “You’re as delicious as a piece of ham, and I wish I were some eggs so I could lie next to you.” A combination between poetry and pick-up lines, I suppose.

Although being so blatantly approached can be shocking to northern ears, a lot of Argentine women actually like them. They consider them a form of compliment, and some more vain ladies even consider their outfit or hairdo that day a failure if they don’t attract enough piropos.

I’ve heard my fair share of piropos, although it’s interesting the difference in treatment I get between when I go out with Ryan and when I go out alone. Walking by myself down the street, I hear men murmuring things under their breath and making comments. Sometimes the guys even do a very cartoon-ish spin and lower the sunglasses while checking out a girl’s butt as she goes past. In my experience, however, they are not really that creative. I get mostly “Ah, cielo (my heaven), Linda (beautiful), mi preciosa (my precious), que bonita sos (how beautiful you are),” things like that. A lot of comments about my eyes, as blue eyes are somewhat rare here. One man told me my eyes were going to kill him. And I go around in jeans, hair in a pony-tail – I can’t imagine how much attention the women who are dressed in high heels all done up with make-up get!

I knew about this when I came, and was prepared to view it as a cultural quirk, perhaps even collect the more creative piropos. But since being here, I have to say that I don’t like it at all. I’d heard the expression “I felt like a piece of meat” before, but I don’t think I really understood it until now. Honestly, it’s like being a horse at a state fair – I halfway expect the men to open my mouth and check my teeth! I don’t feel flattered and I certainly don’t feel very respected here, while some guy is looking me up and down and muttering dirty things under his breath. The other day, some guy actually pinched my bum! Reached out and gave it a grab!

If ever I do hear some more poetic ones, I’ll let you know.

ten thousand and four now

I have a friend who, around a year ago, was teaching his students about counting and age. He decided looked up his age online and, lo and behold, he was creeping up on 10,000 days. Well, I looked my own age in days up online, and I myself added another digit this past Sunday. As those who have received birthday greetings from me know they are always late, so I thought I'd treat myself in kind.

Man, and I feel each of those 10,000 days. ;-)

food for all

Just returned, sweaty and smelling of delicious turkey drippings, from a terrific fundraising dinner for a street childrens group. Delicious turkey, some of the best stuffing I've ever had (made by a Brit! Well, Australian, but same turkey day experience...), and delightful pies, not to mention a tonne of great people. This little cutie's face lit up every time I approached with my camera after the first shot of her. A real model-to-be.

Happy American Thanksgiving!

P.S. Talking with others down here, does anyone know if Canada actually credits the same roots for Thanksgiving? If we do, why did we change the date? I'll research it tomorrow, but maybe someone will save me the work...

thanksgiving weekend

We celebrated American Thanksgiving here weekend last weekend. I had always been under the impression that they got a four-day weekend out of the deal, but Chris says no way, José*. Thursday is it. And we all know how much fun going in Friday after a holiday is...

Anyhoo, both of us helped out with a fundraising dinner for a group that helps kids get off the street in Buenos Aires (SERPAJ, though the page is in Spanish), with our favourite organization down here, South American Explorers providing the volunteers. It was a resounding success with plenty of awesome food (some of the best stuffing I've ever had, and it was made by a Brit. Also, it had raisins. Raisins!), succulent desserts (two pumpkin pies, a chocolate pie, chocolate cake, two dulce de leche cakes, and more), booze, a speech about and by some of the beneficiaries of the program, and music (a tango singer, natch). I walked around, sticking my camera into peoples' faces and making them put on fake smiles until I left so that they could badmouth me. Three pictures made it into the local English-language paper (well, only English-language paper), as they couldn't/wouldn't/didn't send a photographer (no link, it was soft news, didn't make it up on the web). All in all, a fantastic Thanksgiving.

That wasn't the end. In an effort to replace the Thanksgiving Bowl tradition, we visited the polo grounds and took in a couple of games (polo is not the hoity-toity sport that it is back home, very much more hoi polloi down here. Two games for $4US!) I fell in love with the game - it can really be exciting! - but Chris, while appreciating the skill involved, will probably not be a repeat fan. Until the end of the second game, at the end of the eighth chukker (the last section of regular play, there are eight seven-minute chukkers in a game) when it was all tied up, the audience responded to goals and great plays with a modicum of polite clapping and murmurs, maybe with a cheer thrown in for good measure. The end, however, was full of throaty cheers, oohs, ahhs, and whistles, as it was sudden death in the ninth. I was up most of the time, cheering for my new favourite, La Aguada, the team of brothers (most teams of four are one or two families, brothers or cousins).

The horses themselves were amazing beings. As Chris put it, they were the supermodels of the equine world. Way fitter than I currently am, they were the thinnest horses I've ever seen that are still healthy (look at the gams on them!). Everyone says they can turn on a dime, and they really do. Argentine polo (and especially the horses) are said to be the best in the world - reportedly, Argentines can't use their own horses in international meets because they would give them such a large advantage and are forced to use the same as everyone else (unconfirmed) - and I could definitely be convinced of it.

Anyhoo, it was a fantastic weekend, and pictures are up online. Check them out.

*Funny enough, I don't know that in Spanish.

persistance

Workdish:

One time while on someone's roof a certain religious group came to the house and started to preach to me. I told them I don't think I could get any closer to God than now.

I have a friend who is in the Ukraine right now who sends wonderful updates of his adventures there. (Sidenote: he warns never to snort vodka, no matter how cute the girl is who is trying to convince you.) Apparently, there are plenty of Jehovah's Witnesses (for those of you who know Taiwan, it's like the Mormons in Taiwan. That kind of scale), and boy howdy are they persistant. The clincher was when he told them that he didn't speak Ukrainian and they returned the next day with a translator and English pamphlets to continue.

Jehovah's Witnesses: coming to get you.